Trick Or Treat
by Mummyluvr
Summary: It’s Dean’s final Halloween, and all he wants is some candy. Unfortunately, he, Sam, Jo, and Ellen are in for a box office smash of a night when some uninvited guests crash their party. Uber!Crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Got this idea after watching the new Halloween remake and it was too good to pass up. Right in time for Hallweeon, too ;)

Title: Trick Or Treat

Summary: It's Dean's final Halloween, and all he wants is some candy. Unfortunately, he, Sam, Jo, and Ellen are in for a box office smash of a night when some uninvited guests crash their party. Uber!Crossover.

Shows/ Movies: Supernatural, Halloween, Friday the Thirteenth, Nightmare on Elm Street

Rating: T for violence, language, and sexual content

Warnings: I'll warn you that, while I don't write Wincest- and this definitely isn't it- some things are implied. Not Sam and Dean, but close enough to give you goosebumps. Readers beware…

A/N: My knowledge of these characters is slightly limited. Like, Wikipedia, 'Freddy vs. Jason,' and Rob Zombie's 'Halloween' limited. If I mess something up, my bad… but this was begging to be written.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or their respective shows or movies. The people who actually own them do. I could never possibly do them justice. 

* * *

Trick Or Treat

Bobby Singer was roused from a light slumber by the sound of one of the salvage yard dogs barking. Regretting ever getting the damned, noisy things, he slid out of his chair and headed to the door. He threw it open and stuck his head out, looking toward the yard and bellowing for the mutt to shut up. He never heard the heavy breathing of the intruder, never saw the glint of the machete, never felt his spinal cord sever as the tall man with the goalie mask sliced his head off.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Ok, Sammy," Dean Winchester said, his voice indicating to his younger brother that he was up to something, "which one should I get?"

Sam ignored his brother, choosing instead to look into the basket of food and supplies they'd gathered while at the local Wal-Mart. Only when Dean started whining, did his little brother turn. "What?"

"Which one?" Dean asked, grinning wide, his hands behind his back. "Jason?" He pulled a foam goalie mask from behind his back. "Michael?" The next to appear was a white mask with a shock of dirty red hair. "Or Freddy?" Next came the scarred, deformed, rubber mask with a set of plastic steak knives and a glove attached. "Huh? Which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Which one should I go as this year?"

"For what?"

"Dude," Dean gasped, "do you even know what today is?"

Sam glanced around the store at the orange and black paper decorations. "No idea."

"Very funny."

"You know I hate Halloween."

"_You_ do, but _I_ don't. Besides, it's my last one. I want to go out with a bang. I want candy!"

"This is not gonna be your last Halloween, all right? Besides, you're too old for trick-or-treating."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"Am not."

"Are… Dean, just act your freakin' age," Sam moaned, already tired of the bickering. "We've already got plans for tonight, anyway."

"What?" Dean asked, only half paying attention to Sam. Most of his focus was on the masks he'd found.

"Yeah," the younger man nodded, "with all those demons out running around, we're gonna have to be vigilant tonight."

"We're going hunting?" Dean whined, the pitch of his voice surprising his brother. He'd never thought hunting would be something Dean would whine about, let alone in such a high falsetto.

"No, but we'll be ready in case there's trouble. Ellen's gathering a few people over at her place. I told her we'd be there."

"You wanna have a sleep-over at Ellen's house? Wait… Ellen has a house?"

"You didn't think she lived in the bar, did you?"

"Well…"

"Don't answer that. Just get whatever you want and let's go. Don't want to be late."

Shrugging, Dean tossed all three of the masks into the basket and started walking toward the checkout counter. He never saw Sam roll his eyes, take them all out, and lay them on an empty shelf before following.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"So, we're just gonna wait for something to happen?" Dean asked as he sped toward the Nebraska state line, not exactly happy about their plans for the night.

"Maybe if you ask nice, Ellen will take you trick or treating," Sam reasoned, unable to keep the smile off his face, "just make sure she holds your hand when you cross the street."

"I can go by myself," Dean muttered, "or I _could_ have, if someone hadn't gotten rid of my costume."

"That wasn't one costume, Dean. That was three. It's overkill."

"At least tell me we're gonna do something fun there," Dean said, choosing to ignore his brother's comment, "like watching old monster movies. Or new ones. That 'Halloween' remake just came out on DVD, didn't it?"

"You really have a one-track mind today, don't you?"

Dean shrugged. "What can I say? It's Halloween."

* * *

I know what you're thinking... "Oh, no, she didn't!" Oh, yes... I did. Reviews are always appreciated, especially near Halloween. Trick or treat, right? 


	2. Chapter 2

Well, I'm happy people are enjoying this, and I'm glad that you feel bad for Bobby. I feel bad, too. Great way to start a story, though, huh?

Also, I went multi-media with this story and made a promo for it that's up on Youtube right now. Check it out if you're interested :)

* * *

"Glad you boys could make it." Ellen Harvelle stepped aside and ushered Sam and Dean into her house.

"You kidding? There's safety in numbers, especially if something goes down tonight," Sam said, holding up the bag of food he'd gotten earlier that day. She pointed him to the kitchen.

"What do you mean, you're glad we could make it?" Dean asked, a question which earned him a fleeting glare from his brother.

Ellen shrugged. "Nobody else seemed to be home. I called Bobby, Missouri, Josh, and a few others. Sam was the only one who answered. Well, besides Jo."

Dean's eyes went wide. "You found her?"

"She found me," the blonde confirmed, stepping out from behind her mother and flashing a smile at the older hunter, "and all by herself, too."

"Hey, Ellen," Sam said slowly, walking back from the kitchen and grinning wickedly at Dean, "Dean has something he wants to ask you."

Ellen eyed Dean suspiciously, wondering if she even wanted to know, but finally gave in. "What is it, honey?"

The hunter glared daggers at his brother and shrugged. "I wanted to know if you would take Sam trick or treating. I told him he's too old, but he won't listen. I don't want to take him, because Halloween's a kiddie holiday, but he's dead-set on going. Would you mind?" Ellen blinked. "He still needs a costume, too. I'm thinking a clown."

The older hunter cleared her throat and turned slowly toward Sam. "I'm flattered you asked, Sammy, but, uh," she looked him up and down, "we've already got plans. We're gonna have a movie marathon."

"All right!" Dean gushed. "What're we watching?"

"'Titanic,'" Jo stated simply, turning and heading down the hall into a large room.

"She serious?" Dean asked.

Ellen nodded. "You could always take Sam out if you really want to avoid it."

Dean glanced at his brother, then back at the older hunter. "Uh…"

"Kate Winslet takes her clothes off halfway through," Sam said.

"Pop it in and turn it on," Dean grinned, striding confidently past his brother to the room Jo had disappeared into.

"You just need to know how to speak his language," Sam grinned, looking at Ellen.

"I'm not taking you trick or treating," she said, a note of disgust in her voice, as she followed Dean down the hallway.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean opened his eyes and found himself in a dumpy motel room. He sat up and looked around. Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at him intently. "I fall asleep?" Dean asked. Sam nodded. "Dude, you could've woken me up when she took her clothes off." Sam shook his head. "You all right?"

Sam stared at his brother. His eyes were dark, unfeeling, different. His upper lip curled into a snarl, the expression looking out of place on his kind face, his eyes flashing with unearthly rage.

"Maybe I'm just not feeling like myself today," Sam growled, "I wonder whose fault _that_ is?"

He jumped up suddenly, pushing Dean back onto the bed, pinning him down, trapping him. The older hunter stared up into merciless eyes, eyes that couldn't have belonged to his brother, as Sam forced his hands back up to the headboard of the bed. He released his grip, but didn't back away from his brother.

Dean tried to reach up and push him off, but found it impossible. Somehow, his hands had been tied to the headboard.

"What do you say we have a little fun, huh?" Sam hissed, grinning wickedly as he reached down and ripped the necklace from his brother's neck with a snap.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked as his brother reached beneath the pillow and pulled out a long knife.

"I told you. I'm not quite myself today. What's dead should stay dead and all that jazz." He smirked and he sliced a clean line through his brother's arm, eliciting no more than a quiet whimper. Dean wouldn't scream, wouldn't give whatever was pretending to be his brother the pleasure.

"Not big on the whole torture, thing, huh?" Sam asked, tossing the knife aside and staring down at Dean with hunger in his eyes. "That's all right. There are other ways to make you scream." He started unbuttoning his brother's shirt, moving slowly down and unzipping his fly.

"What are you doing?"

"What you've always secretly wanted, Dean. Dean? Dean, wake up!"

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean's eyes snapped open. He jerked away from his brother, who'd been sitting beside him on the couch to watch the movie. "What?" he gasped, staring at Sam as if seeing the other man for the first time.

"That scene's coming up. You all right? You look kind of pale."

Dean blinked, running a hand over his face. There were three sets of eyes on him, boring into him, questioning. It was starting to make him uncomfortable. "Yeah. Nightmare."

"You want to talk about it?" Sam asked, concerned to the very end.

"Uh, not really," the older man replied, eyeing his brother cautiously. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, wincing with pain as his necklace fell into his lap.

"When did that break?" Sammy asked.

Dean picked it up and held it at eye level. The cord had broken, as if it had been pulled from his neck. He rubbed the sore area again, wondering if he'd accidentally ripped it off in his sleep. That didn't seem possible. It would have taken a deliberate attempt to snap the sturdy cord.

"You're bleeding," Ellen noted, pointing at his arm.

"When did that happen?" Sam asked.

"You're really big on repetitive questions tonight, huh, Sammy," Dean quipped, flinching as he gently touched the bloody line on his arm. His shirt had been cut, the skin underneath bleeding freely. "You got anything to clean this up?" he asked, looking at Ellen for help.

She nodded. "Come on, I'll fix you up." She stood and ushered him out of the room, looking over her shoulder to call out, "pause the movie."

He followed her out of the tiny living room and into one of the bathrooms. "Weird, huh?" he muttered.

"What happened?"

"I dunno," Dean shrugged, "one minute I'm asleep, the next, I'm bleeding."

"What did you dream about?"

Gingerly, he peeled his shirt off his injured arm, finally getting to see just how bad the cut was. It was bloody, but a neat line, and not too deep, which was good. "Typical stuff. Girls and cars and girls in cars."

"You sure?" Ellen asked as she started patching up the cut.

"Yeah," he replied, watching her work, "and I can do that myself. I'm a big boy now."

She barely even glanced up at him. "A big boy who wants to go trick-or-treating?"

"That's-"

"A lie. I'm not stupid, Dean. Now tell me what you really dreamt about."

Dean sighed, looking away from the white bandage that was being wrapped around his arm. "Sam," he said quietly, "it was about Sam. Only, he wasn't Sam. He was something else. Something dark. He pinned me to a bed and tried to get me to scream. I think… I think if I hadn't have woken up, he would have raped me."

Ellen stopped what she was doing. "Excuse me?"

Dean shook his head, pulling away. "It's nothing, all right? Just a stupid nightmare."

"What did he do to try and make you scream?" she asked, pulling his arm back to finish wrapping it up.

He shrugged. "Tore off my necklace, cut my arm open."

She finished her work and took a step back, appraising him. "The necklace that's broken now and the arm that got sliced?"

"Yeah…"

"And you don't think that's a little Freddy Krueger-ish?"

"You've seen those movies?"

Ellen rolled her eyes. "Don't hold it against me." She put the supplies back in a drawer and headed out of the bathroom.

"No, it's cool. I've seen 'em all. And Michael, and Jason. Well, technically, it wasn't Jason at first. But that's beside the point. I mean-"

"You're rambling."

"Sorry," Dean muttered, "what was the question? Oh, yeah, Freddy. Probably just a coincidence. Believe it or not, I tend to get hurt a lot and have no idea until later. It happens. Probably just an old cut that broke open."

"And the necklace?"

"Thing's older than me. 'Bout time it broke. I'll just tie it back on."

Ellen nodded, walking down the hall and back to the living room. "You sure you're ok, though?"

"Been hurt a lot worse," he assured, following her.

"One last thing," she said softly, turning suddenly to face him before they entered the living room.

"What's that?"

"Your fly's open." She joined Sam and her daughter in the other room as Dean stared after her. She was right.


	3. Chapter 3

All right. Now that I've freaked you all out, it's time for the real fun to begin :P

* * *

The end credits for "Titanic" rolled as the four hunters slowly roused themselves from a slight, water-logged daze. "So," Dean said slowly, stretching and wincing as the skin around his cut arm stretched and reopened, "I'm confused. Did the old broad kick it in the end, or was she just asleep?"

"Nobody knows," Ellen replied cryptically, standing up and yawning as someone started pounding on the front door. "Damn kids."

"Thought you had the porch lights off," Jo said, trying to nonchalantly slip into Dean's lap.

"Just ignore 'em," the older man advised, pushing the blonde roughly away from him and onto the other end of the couch.

"Not a good idea," Ellen said, "lots of farms around here."

"So?"

"Fresh eggs." Sighing, she walked out of the living room and into the entryway. The pounding continued, intensifying enough to rattle the door in its frame and send a few mounted pictures from the wall to the floor, where they promptly shattered in their frames, releasing a sharp spray of glass that the hunter was barely able to avoid. "I'm coming! Hold on."

She wrenched open the front door to reveal a man so tall that he could have made even Sam look puny. His bulk blocked out all light from the bloated moon, and would have been rather imposing to anyone who hadn't faced off against monsters and demons and ghosts of all shapes and sizes.

Ellen eyed the man, obviously too old to be trick-or-treating, and sighed. He was dressed in an old, ragged jacket and ripped-up pair of cover-alls. His face was hidden by a white Michael Myers mask and he held a plastic knife spattered with fake blood loosely in one hand.

"We're outta candy," the hunter reported, "so you can leave." The man stared back at her with dark, expressionless eyes. "Go home." He took a step closer, until his feet were at the entrance to the house, as if he was testing her to see if she'd back down. Ellen stood her ground. "Mister, you picked the wrong person to mess with."

The man leaned forward a bit, intrigued by the lack of fear in the woman's eyes, not even noticing as her hand snaked behind her to pull the gun from the waistband of her jeans. "Leave," she commanded softly, "or I'll make you."

The stranger didn't seem to notice the subtle malice in her voice, and took a step into the house, holding up the knife as if he thought it was a real weapon. Ellen pulled her gun and fired once, the bullet whizzing through the air over the short distance between the two to imbed itself in the man's shoulder. He didn't seem shaken or hurt at all, but was apparently more pissed off than he let on.

He struck out with the fake knife, which, Ellen realized just a bit too late, wasn't really fake. The cool steel pierced her flesh, ramming through her stomach with more force than one would expect from a human being, even one that massive.

She gasped, loosening her grip on the gun enough that it fell from her weakening fingers and hit the carpet. The man pulled his knife from her gut and stepped back to watch the hunter drop to her knees, her hands reaching up to cover the hole he'd left in her, applying as much pressure as possible, trying not to bleed out while her daughter and friends sat ignorantly in the other room.

She opened her mouth to call out to them, to warn them, to save them with what could be her dying breath. She didn't know how bad it was, just knew that it hurt like hell, that her hands were already wet and sticky, that something warm and red was dribbling from her mouth to stain her jeans.

Ellen didn't have to summon the energy to cry a warning, though. They'd heard the gunshot. Hurried footsteps fell behind her, quickly followed by the sound of gunfire and a high-pitched scream that could only be Jo.

The intruder took five bullets to the chest and went down hard, slumping over in the doorway, half-in and half-out of the house. More hurried footsteps echoed through the hall and she felt strong arms wrap around her, gently prying her hands from her stomach to inspect the wound.

"Doesn't look too bad," Dean said softly, "I can probably fix it up. You still with us?"

Vision blurring, Ellen nodded. She started to protest as he scooped her up in his arms, but he cut her off. "No way. You can't walk. Think of it as bonding time. We don't see nearly as much of each other as we should." Deciding that it wasn't worth the effort to argue with a Winchester, she sighed and laid her head against his chest, letting herself pass out.

"Mom?" Jo asked, her voice nothing more than a soft squeak. She was peeking around Sam, who was holding her back, trying to block her view.

"I'll think she'll be all right," Dean reported, shifting her weight in his arms, "I've seen worse, anyway. But we've gotta get her somewhere safe to patch her up."

"What's wrong with right here?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the lifeless body of the intruder. "You ever see 'Halloween?'"

"Dean," Sam groaned, "this isn't some crappy horror movie. She needs help."

"I'm not arguing with you there, Sammy, but she's not getting it here."

"Do you have any idea how stupid you sound right now?"

"Let's just leave," Dean said calmly, "we can go somewhere else, maybe the Roadhouse, and fix this. I just don't want to stay here."

"Fine," Jo said, rolling her eyes at the older man, pushing past Sam, and heading for the door.

"I wouldn't do that," Dean warned.

"And why not?" the blonde demanded, turning around and glaring at him.

"Well, in the movies they always come back, because if they don't come back, there won't be any sequels, and the studios don't make any more money. "

"I don't care about the studios, Dean! This isn't a freakin' movie! It's real life," she shouted, "and my mom's really hurt. That isn't really Michael Myers. It's just a psycho in a mask."

"Michael-"

"No!" she spun back around, intent on stepping over the body of the man that had tried to murder her mother in order to escape the house.

"Jo," Sam said slowly, the tone of his voice making her blood run cold, "get back here."

She backed up a couple of steps, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Why?"

"Because he's breathing."

The girl looked back at the body, a body that had been completely still just a few seconds before, and saw that the chest was slowly moving up and down, rising and falling, _breathing_. She ran back to the group. "What now?"

"Is there any other way out of this house?" Dean asked.

"The garage, but the door makes a lot of noise, and the patio door in the back sticks."

"What about windows?" Sam asked, his eyes never leaving the body on the floor.

Jo smiled. "Upstairs. My old bedroom window. I used to sneak out sometimes. There's one of those trellis things running up the side of the house. We can get out that way."

Sam nodded and headed up the stairs, letting Jo pass him on the way to lead them in the right direction. He was at the top of the staircase when he heard Dean call his name. "What?"

"You ever notice that the victims in horror movies always head up the stairs?" Dean asked.

Sam glared down at him. "You're kidding, right?"

The older man shook his head. "No. Always. I mean, do they just naturally assume that the killers never mastered the steps, or what?"

"Now is _not_ the time," Sammy hissed, "come on."

Dean shrugged. "All right." He followed his brother and Jo up the stairs and into a small bedroom that had been painted black and covered with newspaper clippings about death and destruction. "Cheery little thing, aren't ya?" he asked, looking pointedly at Jo.

"I was never really into unicorns and rainbows," the blonde hissed as she opened the window and gazed out into the night. "Coast is clear. I'll go first. Make sure it's safe."

The brothers exchanged nervous glances, but nodded, watching as she climbed out the window and backed down the trellis to the ground. Dean shifted Ellen's weight to one arm as best he could and clamored out the window. He struggled on the trellis, but eventually made it to the ground safely.

Sam began backing out of the window, but stopped when he saw something move in the hallway. He leaned slightly to the side, hoping to get a better look, and saw a brief flash of white. He narrowed his eyes, squinting, waiting for the thing to come back into view.

The man in the white mask, the one that had been dead, suddenly barged through the door, brandishing the bloody knife at the hunter. Sam let out a quick gasp before shoving himself backwards out the window. He fell to the ground with a thud, thankful that Ellen hadn't cut her lawn in a while, and looked back up at the window. Dean and Jo followed his gaze.

"Oh, my-"

"Let's get out of here," Dean interrupted the girl, digging in his pocket for his keys before tossing them to Sam. "You drive, I'll sit in back and try to stop the bleeding." They headed for the car.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry I didn't post yesterday. Had some real-world stuff to take care of. But I'm back with chapter 4 today. Enjoy!

* * *

Sam glanced into the rearview mirror, his worried gaze falling on his brother for maybe the tenth time since leaving the house. Dean was sitting in the backseat, propping Ellen's head up with his arm, carefully applying pressure to the wound with his hands. "Where to now?"

"Since you two have ruled out hospitals," Jo said softly, "I'm thinking the Roadhouse. We've got all kinds of stuff in the cellar. Guns, knives, first aid kits. It's not that far." She looked over the seat as Sam turned his attention back to the road, her eyes studying Dean. "What was that thing?"

"Best guess? A demon. Maybe the big guy was possessed. That would explain why he didn't die, anyway."

Jo nodded. "And with everything you let out of Hell…"

"It makes sense," Sam agreed. "All right, so we'll go to the Roadhouse, fix this, and then maybe call Bobby. If that thing was a demon, he'll be able to help, maybe tell us if there could be more, and where." He pushed down on the gas pedal, sending the car faster toward its destination, praying that they got there in time.

As it turned out, Jo had been right. The Roadhouse wasn't too far from her home and the group had arrived sooner than they'd thought. The blonde jumped from the car before it had even stopped rolling and dug through her pocket for her keys. She fumbled with them for a moment before finally finding the correct one and unlocking the door to the bar.

She nearly broke it off its hinges as she pushed it open with enough force to rattle the steady new frame. The strong scent of fresh wood hit the group as they crossed the threshold into the newly reconstructed building, running for the stairs that led to the cellar.

Sam and Jo took the steps two at a time, with Dean at their heels, careful not to drop the unconscious woman in his arms. The blonde flipped on the lights and a single, dirty light bulb flickered on, illuminating the room in a soft, hazy glow.

"There's an old couch over there," she said, pointing to a darkened corner of the room, "I'll grab the stuff."

"Get a flashlight," Dean instructed, "can't do this in the dark."

The girl nodded and began digging through some crates that sat near the wall. Dean moved slowly toward the couch, weary of the darkness, of the things that could be hiding there. He had to squint to make it out until a bright light clicked on behind him, bathing the once-darkened corner in an artificial glow.

"Found one," Sam announced as Dean laid Ellen out of the couch and started unbuttoning her shirt, pulling the torn fabric back to get a better look at the wound.

"Not too bad," he reported, looking over his shoulder as Jo walked up with a large first aid kit in her hands, "shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"What about blood loss?" the blonde asked, handing him the kit.

"We kept pressure on it. I don't think she's lost that much." He started digging through the kit. "Hey, bring that light closer."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean sighed as he finished packing up the contents of the kit. He turned and looked at Jo and Sam, who had been stranding behind him the whole time, holding flashlights over his shoulders to better illuminate the small area. "Done," he announced, scooting the large white box into a corner and leaning his back up against the couch. "We should call Bobby."

"Weak signal down here," Jo reported, "we'll have to go upstairs."

"Then we go in pairs."

"You're kidding, right?" Sam scoffed, "you want to use the _buddy system_?"

"You've seen a lot of horror movies, right?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. You drag me to them all the time."

"Well, what always happens to the people who go off alone?"

"We've been over this, Dean. This isn't a movie. It's real life."

"Just answer the question."

Sam sighed. "They always die, all right?"

The older man nodded. "That's right. They do. Now, unless you want someone to die, we're using the buddy system."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by a loud banging sound from the building above them. The three hunters turned their heads up to look at the ceiling, their eyes going wide.

"Did you lock the door?" Sam asked, looking back at Jo.

She turned scared eyes on him and he had his answer. He glanced at his brother. "Buddy?"

"Oh, _now_ you'll use the buddy system," Dean said, rolling his eyes as he stood up and brushed himself off.

"Just grab a gun or something and go," Jo hissed, nodding toward a cabinet on the opposite side of the room as footsteps pounded above them.

Sam crossed the cellar and pulled open the cabinet doors to reveal a small armory. "You weren't lying when you said you guys had everything down here, were you?"

Jo smiled and walked up to stand beside him, reaching into the cupboard to arm herself. "Nope."

Sammy nodded and grabbed a gun from the closet, passing a machete to Dean. "Ready?"

"Ready." The older man turned to Jo. "You stay down here and make sure your mom stays safe, all right? No matter what, _don't come up_."

The girl scowled at him, but did what he said and plopped down in front of the couch, staring up at the cellar door. The brothers shared a quick glance, and then headed up the steps, Sam out front, toward the bar.

The door creaked open and Sam stuck his head out, glancing quickly around the darkened kitchen space that was used more for storage than for cooking. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, so he proceeded into the room with Dean watching his back.

The two moved slowly into the bar, careful to completely take in their surroundings as they entered the room. The main entrance to the building stood open, a slight breeze causing the door to bang repeatedly against the siding.

"That must be what we heard," Dean said quietly, "we're getting paranoid."

Sam turned to face his brother and nodded. "Yeah, I…" he trailed off as something moved from the shadows behind his brother. "Dean, watch out!"

The older man ducked down and Sam fired at the tall, white-faced figure that had emerged from the shadows behind him. The man stumbled back a step, and Sam fired again, peppering the tattered coveralls with more bullet holes.

The thing didn't seem too fazed by the attack, and turned its attention to Dean, who had fallen onto the hardwood floor and was clearly hurting because of it. The machete he'd taken from the cellar had fallen from his grasp and lay less than a foot away. He saw the creature coming and struggled to reach it.

His fingers closed loosely around the weapon just as the masked figure attacked, standing over him and stabbing straight down toward his neck with the bloody knife. Dean reacted fast and kicked at the thing's legs, tripping it up and bringing it down toward him.

Sam shouted his brother's name as he watched the creature fall, the tip of its knife glinting menacingly in the light that fell through the windows. Dean was ready, though, and shoved his machete toward the falling monster, pushing the blade through its face with a sickening squelch.

The creature went limp almost instantly, its knife dropping from its slackened grip and falling harmlessly to the floor beside the hunter. Dean pushed the large figure off of himself and to the floor. Breathing a quick sigh of relief, he grabbed the fallen knife.

Sam watched in horror as his brother straddled the monster and began ripping into it with its own weapon of choice. The blade went in and out, in and out, with an inhuman amount of force, splattering blood over them, leaking onto the floor to form a pool of sticky red goo.

"Dean," he said softly, taking a cautious step forward as his brother continued to carve the creature up like a jack-o-lantern. "Dean. It's gone. You got it. It's dead now."

"No," Dean grunted, shoving the knife into the body again, "it's. Not." Each word was punctuated by another stab, another grunt, a slight shake from the figure lying prone on the ground.

"Dean-"

"They. Never. Die."

"What if we burn it?"

"What?" He didn't even stop butchering the corpse to ask the question, didn't even turn, just kept stabbing.

"It can't come back if we burn it."

"Fine," Dean said through gritted teeth as he dug the knife straight into the creature's heart and let it sit, "we'll burn it. But we're not taking chances." He wrenched the knife out again and began sawing through the corpse's neck.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"In the movies, these things are like revenants-"

"This isn't a movie."

"Humor me here, Sam. It can't hurt."

"All right."

"Revenant lore is pretty broad, right? But one thing that they all have in common, the vamps and the zombies and whatever else, is decapitation. If you cut off the head, it can't come back. See where I'm going?"

Sam nodded. "I guess. But we'd have to keep the head away from the body, right?"

"We'll bury the ashes from the head behind the building. Burn the body up front. Sound good?"

"You do that," Sam said, wrinkling his nose as Dean began sawing through the thing's spinal cord, "I'll stay in here and see if I can get a hold of Bobby." He pulled out his cell as Dean continued his bloody work.

* * *

Happy Halloween! 


	5. Chapter 5

Ok, so I'm doing this instead of writing the English paper that's due tomorrow. A girl's gotta have her priorities :)

* * *

"What took you so long?" Jo demanded as the brothers descended the steps into the cellar, "and why do you smell like smoke?"

"And why did I wake up without a shirt on," Ellen asked, glaring at the elder of the two Winchesters, "_Dean?_"

"Maybe I should have let her bleed to death," the man mused as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"We were attacked," Sam explained, "by the same guy. Dean carved him up and we burnt the body."

"You killed an innocent person?" Jo asked, turning wide, horrified eyes on the older hunter.

"He tried to kill me first," Dean defended, "besides, he stabbed your mom."

"But he was possessed," the blonde argued.

"I don't think so. If there was a demon inside, it had plenty of shots to escape, and there wasn't any smoke."

"Well, what was it, then?" she sneered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"A monster," Ellen answered. Three sets of eyes turned to her. "Don't tell me you didn't think they were real."

"Monsters are like witches and stuff, though," Sam said, "stuff that doesn't fit under the demon or spirit categories. At least, that's what dad told us."

"And he was right. That thing wasn't a demon, and it wasn't a spirit. It was a little bit of both."

"What do you mean?"

"You boys have seen a lot of monster movies, right?" she asked, leaning forward off the couch a bit before grimacing and settling back, "well, what were Frankenstein's monster and the wolfman? What was Michael Myers? Jason Voorhees? Freddy Krueger? The killer in 'House of Wax?' What do they all have in common?"

Dean blinked, thinking back, trying to find the connection. "They were all human, mostly."

Ellen nodded. "Exactly. That's what makes them so scary. They were _people_. Frankenstein's monster was an outcast, was hated, and that's why people identified with it. The wolfman was just an unfortunate soul. Myers had a horrible upbringing. Voorhees was deformed. Krueger probably had some psychological condition and needed help. Vincent just wanted to be special. We can _identify_. We feel bad for them. They're killers, but it's not their fault."

"So?"

"So what if they weren't all just made-up characters? Most legends start somewhere. You know that."

"You saying they might have been real people?"

"I'm saying," Ellen said softly, "that it's possible that Hollywood heard a few stories and exaggerated a bit. Think about it: that woman in France who recently got a face transplant? Like Frankenstein's monster. Different parts of different people being sewn together. They can transplant just about anything now. There really is a genetic disorder that makes people furry, another one that turns teeth and nails red and induces photosensitivity. Not to mention all the nut jobs out there who think they're animals. It's not hard to believe that a child raised in an abusive environment could become a killer, that a child that everyone think drowned could have really escaped an untimely death and returned to finish off his tormentors, that there's a sadistic pedophile on the loose, that some people would do anything to be loved and fit in."

Dean nodded. "Ok, but most people die after getting shot in the chest six times. How do you explain that?"

"I told you. He was a monster. You think only demons and people who have no soul of their own go to Hell, Dean? Murderers go, too. Those people that are defined as monsters when they're alive because of the atrocities they've committed, they burn."

"You think that thing broke out when the Devil's Gate opened?" Sam asked.

"I think it was a bad person who saw a way out."

"Then there might be more out there," Jo said. She looked up at Sam. "You call Bobby yet?"

"Tried. No answer."

"Probably just trying to avoid the Halloween pranks," Dean reasoned, "we're not too far from his place. We can head over," he glanced at Ellen, "if you feel up to it."

"Dean, I just gave a ten minute spiel on movie monsters and their place in our society. I think I can ride in a car for an hour."

The hunter shrugged. "If you're sure."


	6. Chapter 6

Wow. Don't all try to reply at once, you might crash the site LOL!

* * *

The night was thick with suffocating darkness that even the blinding headlights of the 1967 Impala could not completely disperse. The four passengers sat in silence as the imposing car pulled into Singer's Salvage Yard. The drive hadn't been too long, but it had seemed to last an eternity to the car's occupants, who had tried and repeatedly failed to contact their demonologically-inclined friend.

The car pulled to a stop in the large dirt lot that surrounded the tiny house. All four doors squeaked as they were forced open, and four pairs of shoes splashed into the mud. The lights in the house were on, illuminating the yard with an eerie glow. The front door had been propped open, and light spilled through it and onto the small front porch.

"He's home," Dean reasoned, leading the way through the thick mud and up onto the porch. He stopped dead as he reached the second step, all color draining from his face as the others ran into his back with enough force to nearly topple him over.

"What?" Jo asked, obviously annoyed as she attempted to remain upright in the thick goo while also supporting her slightly wobbly mother.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, to scream, to make some kind of sound that would accurately express his shock at finding his friend's head lying at his feet, but nothing came out.

"What is it?" the blonde demanded again, tugging at Sam's jacket as she saw the taller man pale as well.

"Bobby," Sam said softly, hanging his head as he turned slightly to face the women behind him. "Something got Bobby."

Glancing back at her mother, Jo moved slowly around the two men until she could clearly see the scene of the crime. Blood coated the small porch, soaking into the wood, splattered against the door, which had been propped open by Bobby's headless body. The injury that had killed him had been clean and precise, she saw, as her eyes traveled down the porch to fall on the final resting spot of the hunter's severed head.

With a gasp, the blonde stumbled backward and into her mother's waiting arms, pressing herself tightly against the older woman in an attempt to escape the horror that lay before them, ignoring Ellen's slight gasp of pain as the stab wound in her stomach protested the proximity.

"We should, uh, move him inside," Dean suggested, his voice wavering slightly as he bent down and gingerly picked up his friend's head, "and lock the doors. It could still be out here."

"What if it's _in there_?" Jo asked through a few scatted sobs.

"Sam and I can take care of the body," the older man said, "you and Ellen raid the trunk, grab anything useful. We'll go in together, do a sweep of the place, make sure it's safe."

Jo nodded, reaching out for the keys to the car. After digging in his pocket with shaking hands, Dean handed her what she needed and she set off with her mother to unload the trunk.

Sighing, Sam moved to the front door and looped his hands under Bobby's arms, hoisting the dead man up and over his shoulder while sticking his foot in the door to keep it from closing and possibly locking them all out.

It didn't take Jo and Ellen long to come back to the porch, sloshing through the mud and struggling under the heavy duffle bags that they'd packed. "Ready?" Sam asked, holding out the hand he wasn't using to support Bobby and effortlessly catching the blade Jo tossed to him.

After the items in the duffle bags had been dispersed to the point that everyone had been armed, Dean marched up the steps and slid silently into the house. Sam fell in behind him, with the girls bringing up the rear and locking the door behind them.

The interior of the small house was, as always, nearly as cluttered as the actual salvage yard, with piles of books lying all around, stacked to the ceiling. A thin layer of dust coated every inch of the room, proving once and for all that Bobby Singer had more important things to do than spend his time playing house.

The tiny building was silent, save the soft creaking of old floorboards as the hunters moved carefully through the house, checking every room, every corner, every pile of aged books, Sam occasionally grunting softly as he adjusted the weight of the corpse that he'd thrown over his shoulder. Nothing was there.

Dean was the first to drop his guard. "It's clear," he reported, stating the obvious, "whatever did this, it's gone now."

"We should put him in the bedroom," the younger man suggested, "figure out what we're dealing with and what to do about it."

Dean nodded, following the younger man into the house's tiny bedroom, one they had often shared as children when their father hadn't had anywhere better to leave them, banishing Bobby to the couch. They laid their old friend out on his bed, placing his head gently on a pillow that had yellowed with age and covering him with a slightly tattered sheet.

"This is effed up," Dean muttered, staring down at the lump under the sheet, his voice cracking a bit with the effort of holding back every emotion that was rushing through his body, threatening to spill out. How he felt wasn't important, though. The fact that a killer was on the loose, now _that_ was something to get worked up over. "I mean, what the Hell, man?"

Sammy shook his head, trying his hardest to emulate his brother's control and not quite getting it down. "I dunno… I dunno. Come on, we should go check on the girls. See if they have any ideas."

They left the room, letting the door shut behind them, hands in their pockets, heads down. Bobby was- _had been-_ one of the toughest hunters they'd known, tougher even than their father, and with more experience. It was impossible to think that he was dead, impossible to acknowledge that they would never see him again, never be able to drop by unannounced for some sage advice or an exorcism or two.

They walked down a short hallway and into the spacious main room of the house (as spacious as it could get with all the books and the cramped quarters, anyway), glancing sadly up at the broken and now-useless symbol that had been painted on the ceiling. Walking through another doorway led them to Jo and Ellen, who were sitting silently on a battered couch, just staring at the wall, both lost in thought.

"There's more than one," Ellen said softly.

"What?" Dean asked, pulling himself out of his memories about his recently deceased friend and father-figure.

"There's more than one," the older hunter clarified. "When we were heading back to the car to raid the trunk, there were footprints in the mud."

"Yeah, because we'd just-"

"They were big," Jo interrupted, "_too_ big. Remember the one back at the house? We were talking while you two were… and we think that more than one of those things got out."

"Think about it," her mother added, "it's not just the tracks in the mud. Whatever killed Bobby was able to get the best of him, and we all know that ain't easy."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but we can't prove that. All we know is that we were attacked by some hellspawn in a Michael Myers get-up. That doesn't mean more are out there, and it doesn't mean that's what got Bobby. For all we know, there's just a normal, run-of-the-mill psycho on the loose."

"Oh, that makes me feel _so_ much better," Jo sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Dean's right, though," Sam defended, "sort of. We don't know what did this or if it's even still around. We're not even entirely sure that the thing that attacked us in Nebraska was supernatural. But we do know that this house is safe."

"What are we gonna do?" Jo asked.

"Well, I say we wait out the night here. It should be safer during the daylight. We can leave and see if the police got any weird reports of slasher film deaths," Dean shrugged, "maybe we can look into it then."

"That's not what I meant. What are we gonna do about Bobby?"

The four hunters stared at each other. It was something they hadn't really thought about, something that hadn't crossed their minds. The fact that he was gone still hadn't hit home, not like the terrifying truth that a killer was on the loose had.

"Burn him," Ellen finally said, "just in case. We can make the pyre in the morning, out back."

"Just in case?" Jo questioned incredulously, "just in case _what_? Mom, it's _Bobby_. He wouldn't come back."

"Violent death," Dean reasoned, "possibly unavenged. Your mom has a point."

"But-"

"No buts," he argued, "it's what…" he trailed off, his head snapping around suddenly to look through the doorway into the entry of the house.

"What is it?" Sam asked, moving to stand beside his brother and get a better view of the other room.

"Something just moved outside the door," the older man whispered, his whole body tensing in anticipation of another attack, "I saw it through the screen. Listen."

The room fell silent as the group strained their ears, searching for even the slightest noise that could signal the presence of something unpleasant. It wasn't long before footsteps could be heard treading across the creaky floorboards of the old porch.

"What do you think it is?" Jo whispered, naturally assuming that whatever was hanging around the salvage yard at such a late hour on Halloween night after the brutal murder of the yard's owner couldn't possibly be human. The boards continued to creak as the visitor descended the stairs.

"Kikikiki," Dean hissed under his breath, "mamamama."

"Not funny," Ellen hissed back at him. "We should go check it out." She started to stand, but gasped and fell back onto the dusty cushions, hand straying to the bloody hole in her shirt.

"Not you. Sam and Jo can go."

"While we do what, sit back and relax, shoot the breeze, maybe start a book club?"

"You can do whatever you want, but I'm gonna check those stitches. They've probably all ripped out by now."

"You try and take my shirt off again and it'll be the last thing you ever do, you hear me?"

Glancing silently at each other, Sam and Jo crept out of the room, more than happy to leave their respective family members to rip each other's heads off.


	7. Chapter 7

I'll admit it. I tried really hard to avoid pairing characters up in this story, but sometimes it just happens (especially in horror movies). And since I'm a hopeless supporter of Dean/Elln (pause for disgusted sounds from audience), Sam and Jo get stuck together a lot. Does this mean that the story has pairings? Of course not. It just means that sometimes people get split up in the same way and things happen... Just thought I'd warn you before this...

* * *

"Ready?" Sam asked, turning slightly to look over his shoulder at the young blonde girl with the pistol in her hands. She nodded and he opened the door.

A blast of fresh, cool air hit the hunters immediately, blowing their hair back. Leaves swirled around their feet and into the house, crackling over the wooden floors. A quick glance at the surrounding area told the two that nothing was in the immediate vicinity, and they stepped out of the house and onto the porch, guns drawn and held at the ready. They both jumped as the door slammed behind them.

Slowly, they made their way from the rickety porch to the thick mud that covered the entire property. Their shoes sank instantly into the deep muck, making it hard to move away from the inviting glow of the lights that shone through the curtained windows and screened door.

The two hunters were struggling to pull their feet out of the mud, Jo wishing that she'd chosen a better, more practical pair of shoes to leave the house in, when a dark shadow fell across them, almost completely blocking out the light from the house.

"That's right," Sam groaned, "laugh it up, Dean. We got stuck." The shadow didn't move, didn't laugh, didn't give any sign that it had heard what he'd said. "Dean?"

Slowly, Sam and Jo turned around, both gulping back startled gasps as their eyes landed on the large figure behind them and dim moonlight glinted menacingly off a blood-drenched machete.

The figure cocked his head to one side, as if inspecting them, appraising them, trying to figure out whether or not they were worth its time. As it moved its head, its face fell into a shaft of moonlight that had cleared one of the near-by garages that were scattered around the property. A dirty, weathered hockey goalie's mask came into view with enough clarity to get the hunters to start running, forgetting their trapped shoes and plodding through the sticky mess of a front yard in their socks.

The man with the machete gave chase slowly, following the pair at a leisurely stroll, machete held slack at his side. The hunters slipped through the mud, unable to find a good, solid footing amongst the muck. Sam's feet slid from under him, launching him face-first into the gooey mess, his gun flying from his hand as he fell.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and turned around in time to see the machete sailing down toward his head. Thinking fast, Sam rolled to the side, barely missing the weapon as it fell. He scrambled to his feet, still slipping in the mud, struggling to catch up with Jo as she ran. "That is one _pissed_ off goalie," he shouted as he approached her, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward one of the garages.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he yanked her roughly into the building and slammed the door shut, sliding the bolt across, even though he knew it wouldn't hold.

"Bobby was always prepared," Sam explained as he began digging around the clutter of the corrugated metal building, "he kept stuff hidden away everywhere… even in the garages." He overturned a broken-down workbench and unearthed a series of knives and machetes. "Bingo."

"What are those supposed to do?" Jo questioned, eyeing the weapons incredulously.

"Fight fire with fire," Sam announced, holding up a machete to inspect it. "Bullets won't work on these things, we've proven that, but if we can cut off its head-"

"You think it's like the one back at the house?"

"No, Jo. I don't. I think Jason Voorhees traveled all the way here from Camp Crystal Lake to say 'howdy' and behead our friend."

"You don't have to be mean about it," the blonde growled.

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of the heavy door banging back and forth on its hinges. Both hunters turned to look at the shaking piece of metal. Suddenly, the killer's machete slammed through the thin piece of wood, making both hunters jump. Jo let out a little scream and grabbed instinctively onto Sam's arm.

The more experienced hunter shook her off as Jason crashed through the door and headed straight for them. Jo back slowly up against the far wall while Sam rushed forward, swinging his machete. Jason matched the move, and the two sharpened weapons collided in a spray of sparks.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean looked down the long aisle, at the faces of his friends, and turned back to the priest, who smiled encouragingly. Dean smiled back. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but, then again, who ever did? The point was that he had, and now he was in the midst of one of his favorite dreams, the dream about what could be.

The bridal march started to play and he turned back to the aisle. It was a different woman every time. Sometimes he knew her, sometimes he didn't. It didn't really matter who it was, though. What mattered was that she cared enough about him to marry him, to spend forever with him, to love him. It was something he'd never imagined that he could have.

His bride grew closer and he could feel his anticipation growing. Who was it this time? He needed to know.

She stopped, suddenly, halfway to the altar. She stood there, surrounded by their friends and family, and stared at him. The bouquet fell from her slackening grasp as she reached up and pulled back the veil.

"Where are we?" Ellen asked, her eyes darting around the church.

Dean stumbled back a step, his breath catching in his throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. "Um, we're at the church… honey?"

"What did you just call me?" she asked, marching up to the altar to stand beside him, looking up at him, "because it _couldn't_ have been what I thought."

He took another step back, away from her and toward the priest, who was watching the scene unfold with mild interest. "This isn't right," he muttered.

"Do you know what's going on?"

"You're supposed to love me."

"Dean…?"

"Funny, isn't it," the priest said, his voice low and dangerous, with just a hint of amusement bubbling up beneath, "how your dream and her nightmare are one in the same?"

Dean spun around, his heart stilling as he recognized the voice. The priest smiled with rotting, pointed teeth, waggling his fingers in a wave that showed off the four wicked blades attached to his glove.

Both hunters practically jumped from the altar as the Bible the priest had been holding suddenly burst into flames, which wasted no time in consuming the religious man, licking at him until there was nothing left but a burnt-up body dressed in a striped sweater and unmistakable hat.

"Freddy Krueger," Ellen said, taking another step back, "should have known."

"Yes," the monster replied, smiling wickedly as he moved from his spot on the altar to stand closer to the hunters, "you should have. You should have known a lot of things," he turned to Dean, his smile widening, "shouldn't she, Deanster?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he hissed, stepping away from the creature.

"Sure you do," Freddy said sweetly, "you've always known. You're a _freak_. That's why you're all alone. That's why you can't see the difference between love and sympathy." He turned to Ellen, walking up to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders before she could move away. "That's why he's been harboring this little crush."

"That's not true," Dean shouted.

"Shut up and let the grown-ups talk," Freddy snapped at him before turning back to Ellen. "You see, he's a freak, and everyone leaves him. Except for _you_. And he almost killed your daughter. You _must_ like him. You must not think he's a _freak_."

"Shut up!"

"He's sweet on you. You really are the only one who hasn't left, aren't you? Mary, John, Sam, Cassie, Jo, so many others."

"I told you to-" Dean was cut off by a wave of the monster's hand as flames leapt up around him, enclosing him in a circle, keeping him from Ellen and Freddy, trapping him within his own private inferno.

"Did you know," Freddy began, sliding around to stand on Ellen's other side, "that he's afraid of fire? Always has been, always will be. He hides it well, though, don't you think?"

"You let him go," Ellen demanded.

"See, now, that's the kind of thing that will get you here," the creature grinned, gesturing at the now-empty church in which they stood. "You really shouldn't sympathize. He's a big boy, after all, he can take care of himself."

She looked away from the monster and into the ring of fire to see Dean glancing around nervously at the rising flames, shaking. He looked at her with wide, scared eyes, eyes that reflected the dancing, swirling fire that surrounded him, the hellfire that would torment him for all eternity.

"Let him out," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, threatening, eyes flashing.

"Why?" Freddy scoffed, "so you can coddle him? You want to nurture him and make all that hurt go away? You really think you can fix him? He's _unfixable_. Besides, you're the last person who should be helping him." Again, his lips curled into an evil grin, "I mean, you couldn't even keep your own daughter safe."

She flinched. It was minute movement, but he saw it and used it to his advantage. He moved much quicker than she would have thought, and it wasn't long before one sharpened blade had poked itself through the wound in her stomach. With a gasp, the hunter fell to the floor, clutching at the bloody spot on the otherwise pristine wedding gown as Freddy pulled his finger from her gut.

He turned to Dean next, stalking up to the flames and walking through them, his appearance shifting as he approached the hunter, who sat curled in on himself on the cool stone of the altar.

"Now," Freddy grinned, reaching out with one large hand and caressing the side of Dean's face, reveling in the way that the young man shuddered at the touch and clasped his hands to his ears in an attempt to block out the cold sound of his brother's voice, "where were we?"


	8. Chapter 8

Whew. Sorry it took a couple of days for this one. Large English assignment due at the end of the week, and I tried to get a head-start. I kinda fell asleep, though. Oops...

* * *

Jo watched the scene with wide eyes, her own weapon forgotten in light of the spectacle taking place before her. Sparks flew from the clashing machetes as Sam and their masked attacker went at it, fighting to the death. Metal clanged as the weapons hit once again, Sam grunting with the effort of keeping his opponent's blade as far from his own face as possible.

He took a step back and swept down with the machete, wincing as the blade dug deeply into the flesh of Jason's stomach. The monster hadn't seemed to notice, though, as he lashed out with his own blade. Sam barely had time to duck the blow and retrieve his weapon.

The hunter hit the ground as the machete again sailed toward his head, nearly decapitating him. He looked up at the man in the mask and smiled. He turned his own machete over in his hands as his attacker was recovering from the missed blow and shoved it upwards, right under Jason's ribcage and into his heart. He barely registered Jo's scream behind him, barely thought about what he was doing, and twisted the machete in deeper.

The monster fell slack, collapsing to its knees on the ground and dropping its own machete as it fell. Sam glanced back at Jo, who was standing pressed up against the wall with her hand to her mouth in shock. Sighing, he reached down and picked up the creature's weapon, holding it out to her. "You want to do the honors, or should I?"

Gulping back her fear, the blonde reached a trembling hand toward the machete. "Is it dead?"

"For now," Sam shrugged, "but Dean was right. They don't die. They're already dead. Like a revenant. Cut off it's head."

Jo pulled her hand back. "No."

"Fine," Sammy sighed, turning to the body and preparing to lop its head off.

"Wait!"

He glanced back at the girl. "What?"

"Is that what killed Bobby?"

"Probably. Unless there's another one walking around."

She held out her hand. "I want to do it." He raised his eyebrows as she took the weapon. "Why should you get to have all the fun?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean sat straight up, barely stifling a scream. He stared frantically around the room, searching for any monsters in dark corners, shadows that shouldn't have been there, or his brother. Hands shaking slightly, eyes burning, he zipped up his jeans and turned to the couch, where Ellen was still asleep. Fresh blood coated the old cushions.

"Hey," he whispered frantically, placing his hands on her shoulders and shaking her gently, trying to keep from hurting her even more, "wake up. Ellen, wake up!" She stirred a bit, moaning, her hand snaking up toward the hole in her shirt. "Come on," he said, shaking her harder, "wake up, dammit."

She jumped up, much as he had, gasping, her hands flying to her stomach as her teeth clinched together in pain. She fell back onto the couch and turned sharp eyes on him, her expression changing from one of pain to utter confusion. "What happened to your clothes?"

Dean glanced down at himself. His jacket had been pulled halfway off and his black t-shirt was torn to tatters. "I don't want to talk about it," he whispered, keeping his gaze as far from hers as he could. "You're hurt."

"Yeah," she agreed, wiping the tacky blood from her hands onto her shirt, "but I'm not dead. Why didn't he kill me?"

"Maybe he just wanted to warn us," Dean said, finally turning to meet her eyes, "or, maybe he wanted to scare us. Fear makes him stronger, after all."

Ellen nodded. "It's not too bad, anyway. Could have been worse."

"Yeah," Dean shuddered, "could have. Um, I should probably look at that again. You mind?"

She shook her head, letting him lift up her shirt with trembling hands, his eyes clouding over. "Dean? You all right, honey?"

His head snapped up. "It lied."

Ellen looked at him, a bit startled by the sudden, angry tone in his voice. "What?"

"Those things," he clarified, turning back to her stomach, his eyes darting over the wound, the broken stitches that he knew he would have to fix, "they lie. All the time. And that's what it did. It lied about me."

"It didn't lie about me."

"Maybe you're special."

"We need to talk about this, don't we?"

"There's nothing to talk about," he snapped, "it _lied_. End of story."

"I'm not mad," she said quietly, "I just want to know. I want to hear it from you."

He sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor again. "It's not like it matters, anyway," he whispered, "not like I have enough time left for it to make much of a difference for me. I'm not a bad person. I wouldn't do that to someone," he glanced up, "to you. And that's only if…" he trailed off, his gaze falling back to the floor. "Demons don't lie to me. They don't lie _about _me. I'm sorry."

She opened her mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. What _could_ a person say in that kind of situation? Fortunately, she was saved the trouble as the door opened and Sam and Jo marched back into the room.

"Well," the blonde announced, wiping dark blood from her hands onto her jeans as Sam brushed ashes from his jacket, "that little problem's taken care of."

"You were right," Sam said, looking at Dean, a little confused by the way his brother flinched at the sound of his voice, trembled under his gaze, "it was Jason Voorhees."

"Sam had a sword fight with him," Jo grinned, looking up at the taller hunter with a new appreciation, "it was awesome."

"They were machetes," Sam shrugged.

"You got rid of him?" Ellen asked.

Jo nodded. "Cut off the head myself. We burnt the head and body separately." She glanced over at Dean, her pretty face scrunching up in confusion. "What happened to your shirt?"

He looked up at her with wide eyes, eyes that slowly moved to gaze at Sam with fear and mistrust. "Freddy Krueger."


	9. Chapter 9

You know, as time goes on and my teachers give out mroe homework, I'm finding it harder and harder to find time to update this. Anyway, here's chapter 9!

* * *

"Freddy Krueger?" Sam asked, "_the_ Freddy Krueger? Kill-you-in-your-dreams Freddy?"

"No," Dean rolled his eyes, "Freddy Krueger the ice cream man. After all the crap that's gone on tonight, who _else_ would it be?"

"We're going up against a legend," the younger man marveled, apparently stepping into reality for the first time that night, or perhaps just standing Robert Englund on a higher pedestal than a few masked, nameless actors. "He was always my favorite." So, door number two, then?

"Yeah, well, your little friend went all Edward Scissorhands on me, so excuse me for not agreeing with your sentiments, there, Sammy," Dean said, breathing a silent sigh of relief as his careful scrutiny of his brother revealed what he'd hoped all along: that Sam really was Sam, and not some burnt-up child murderer wearing his brother's face as a mask. "But if you want to play Johnny Depp with him, be my guest."

"I think we're missing the point here," Jo interrupted before Sam could even think of replying.

"And what, exactly, might that be?" Dean asked, turning back to Ellen to further assess Freddy's handiwork.

"The fact that people are in danger. These things are brutal and ruthless and won't stop." She glanced at the blood-soaked couch and was barely able to suppress a shudder. "They've all killed already. People are dead. People are scared. How else do you explain the blood on Michael's knife, or Bobby? How else would Freddy have been able to do that? He needs people to fear him to become stronger, right? So this needs to end. Right now."

"You done?"

"Yes."

"Good," Dean nodded, "so, what's the plan?"

She stared at him blankly, her mouth moving without making a sound, as if she didn't quite comprehend the question. "Plan?" she finally asked, her face screwing up in confusion.

"Yeah. How do we stop him now that we know he's here?"

"How do they do it in the movies?"

"You've never seen them?" Sam asked, his eyes going wide, as if it were some kind of horrific crime to have never visited Elm Street.

Jo shrugged. "I've caught bits. Saw the end of that last one. The one with Jason."

"That doesn't count," Sam snapped, "Freddy lost."

"So did Sam," Dean added with a smirk, "five bucks."

"He should have won," the younger man argued, "that wasn't fair."

"It's not like he died or anything. Hey, tell ya what, we survive this night and Mr. Sandman heads back to his cozy, warm home, and maybe I'll get you his autograph at the end of the year. Huh?"

"That's not funny, Dean."

"None of this is," Ellen interrupted, obviously annoyed with the constant bickering and fast track to nowhere the conversation seemed to be taking, "we need a plan, and here it is: we fall asleep, find Freddy, grab his charred ass, and drag him back into reality."

"Why take the risk?" Jo asked, grinning as Sam and Dean both ducked their heads and blushed, neither accustomed to being reprimanded since their father's death. "Why not just go in with machetes, find him, lop his head off, and pull it back here to burn it? At least that way, if something goes wrong, he's not a threat while we're awake, too."

"Great," Dean said, looking up at her, "but who's gonna go in? Because she," he nodded pointedly at her mother, "just got stabbed again. She can barely walk."

"Then the rest of us will go. Mom can be our lifeline. If something looks like it's about to happen, she can wake us up."

"That's nice, except for the whole 'can't walk' thing. How's she gonna wake us up if she can't get to us?"

"You know," Ellen pointed out, "I was fine in that dream."

Dean's head snapped around to look at her. "You're not going back in there," he tried on a smirk, which felt totally fake, "doctor's orders."

"We could use the help," Sam argued, "_she's_ actually seen the movies."

"Fine," the older man conceded, "then I'll stay here and make sure no one gets hurt."

"But you've seen the movies, too," Jo said, "I should stay behind."

Dean glanced between Sam and Ellen, seeming to weigh his options. Getting stuck in another dream with either of them wasn't exactly on the top of his to-do list, especially after his last run-in with Freddy. "Fine," he sighed, looking back at Jo, "it's you, me, and Sammy. Ellen can make sure we don't die. We'll take in machetes and cut off the sucker's head before towing it back out here."

Jo grinned, obviously pleased that her plan had been the one chosen. "Great. It's decided, then."

"Good luck," Ellen said, laying back on the couch and watching as the younger generation began packing up for the trip.

"Just don't fall asleep," Dean cautioned, his voice grim.


	10. Chapter 10

Ok. Chapter 10. Y'all should know that this is where the real fun starts...

* * *

Sam couldn't really remember falling asleep, but, then again, who ever did? The point was that he'd laid down on the dusty hardwood floor between his brother and Jo and come to in a decidedly creepy cemetery. A heavy mist swirled around the tombstones as the hunter sat up and looked around. The trees on the street just beyond the rusting old gate were nearly bare, their leaves crackling across the street toward him.

He glanced down at his sides to see Jo and Dean both stirring as they… what? Woke up? Fell asleep? Willingly waltzed into a dream-world to confront a supernatural pedophile who undoubtedly wanted to kill them all?

"Nice," Dean groaned, looking around the darkened graveyard, "lollipops and candy canes all around, huh?"

"But where's Freddy?" Jo asked, getting to her feet and brushing dirt and leaves from her back.

"Well, aren't you just ready and raring to go?"

"I want to get this done before anyone else dies."

A shrill scream echoed through the night. "Might want to re-set that goal," Dean advised, clamoring to his feet and glancing down at Sam, who looked up at him expectantly. The older man paused for just a moment, staring down at something that could be real, or could be a dream. There wasn't any way to tell, wasn't any way to know for sure that he wasn't the only one asleep. Gulping back uncertainty, he reached out a hand and pulled his brother up. "Bitch," he hissed under his breath, "learn to stand."

"Why should I?" Sam shot back, brushing himself off as the trio headed to the iron gate that kept the ghosties in, "you always seem so eager to help."

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed at the gate, which creaked open with a squeal loud enough to wake the entire street. Cautiously, three sets of shoes stepped onto the sidewalk.

"I don't believe it," Jo smirked, glancing up at the nearest street sign. "We're on Elm Street."

"Yeah," Dean groaned, "great. You know how many people have died on this God-forsaken strip of concrete?"

"Bout forty," Sam answered absently, staring down the street as a gurgling sound reached his ears. Something wet was running down the road, coating the pavement, making it slick. Too slick to be water. "It's blood."

"Nice touch," the older man commented, reaching around to feel the cool metal of his pistol as it rested against the small of his back. Before falling asleep, the jobs had been divvied up, and Dean had, as usual, drawn the short straw, which meant he got to shoot. Which would, you know, probably not work, especially if his life hung in the balance. But whatever.

"You surprise me," Jo commented, flashing a nervous grin as she tried to cover up her discomfort at the fact that warm blood was spilling down the street and running over her shoes, causing her hand to stray unconsciously to the handle of the machete that hung at her side, "I thought that you would be geeking out over this. I mean, isn't mass media kinda your thing? Hell, _Sammy's_ more excited than you are."

"Yeah, well, maybe you've had a better night than I have," he replied dismissively. Unfortunately, Jo had never really been one to recognize a dismissive tone of voice.

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," he snapped, "just had a bad night."

"He wanted to take out Jason," Sam whispered to the blonde as his brother stalked away down the street, sliding a bit in the constant stream of blood as he hunted down the latest (and hopefully last) monster of the night.

"Oh," Jo said, as if missing a murder could explain the older man's behavior. Together, she and Sam followed Dean down the street, their senses on high alert, muscles tensing in anticipation of an attack. In fact, they were so intent upon being ready for anything and everything coming at them from all sides that they failed to notice that Dean had stopped walking and ran into him.

"What?" Sam hissed, grabbing onto his brother's shoulder for support as he slipped in the blood, a little disturbed by the way the older man flinched at his touch. Dean pointed toward a spot farther up the street and Sam followed his finger.

A single street light shone down on Elm Street, illuminating the river of blood that still flowed down it. Standing in the circle of light was a man, staring calmly at them from under the brim of his tattered old hat, the sharpened knives attached to his glove glinting menacingly in the flickering glow. One of his fingers was covered in blood.

"Freddy," Sam whispered as his eyes roved over the figure. All the wonder and joy that came from years of idolizing a character were gone from his voice, almost as if he'd finally met his favorite actor, only to discover the guy was a jerk. Somehow, being faced with the real nightmarish creature was different than watching him murder mercilessly on screen. It brought a depth and reality that no movie ever could. And, although he would never admit it, he was scared. They all were.

"Well," Freddy grinned, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome, "look who it is. Sam. Dean. Sam and Dean." His eyes sparkled as he puckered up his lips in a grotesque imitation of a kiss, causing Dean to shudder and shrug off his brother's hand, which had never left his shoulder. "Welcome to my nightmare."

Sliding in the blood that still coated the concrete, Jo stepped out from behind Sam, whom she'd run into when he'd stopped abruptly with failed brake lights. "You tried to kill my mother," she hissed, her voice actually sounding threatening in the still, dark air of the night.

"And little Jo-jo," Freddy cooed, "well, this throws a wrench into the whole plan."

"What plan?" the blonde demanded, her hand again snaking to the machete, thin fingers wrapping around the handle.

The creature gazed at each of them, his smile widening, metal claws clicking together as he chose his words. "I was going to let it go, even though it wasn't traditional. It worked for 'House of Wax.'"

"What are you talking about?"

"Dean knows."

Sam and Jo both turned to the older man, who bit his lip. "You've seen a lot of scary movies, yeah?" They nodded. "Well, we're in one, basically. You know who always survives?" They both shook their heads. "Usually the heroic guy and his girlfriend, or the chick who's destined to become his girlfriend."

"But in 'House of Wax' they were brother and sister. The girl's boyfriend was the first to die," Jo pointed out.

"Exactly what he said," Sam reminded her, "and if you ask me, that poor guy didn't deserve it. He just had to pee."

"Then he shouldn't have been playing with fetal pigs."

"It was only one, and-" Sam's argument was cut off by the cool sound of metal-on-metal, which drew their attention back the Laws of Horror.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, well, we're not dealing with some creepy run-down wax town, here. We're dealing with Freddy. And Jason. And Michael. There's always a girl and there's always a guy. The chick's usually blonde and a virgin." He looked pointedly at Jo, who scowled at the accusation. "The guy's usually smart, strong, and nice enough not to pressure her into anything. Especially sex. The people in these movies who do it tend to die immediately after."

The sound of applause reached their ears and the hunters turned back to Freddy, who had, along with his streetlamp, moved closer to the group. "Bravo. Do you know what that means?"

Dean nodded again. "One of us has got to go."

"Exactly," Freddy smiled, "because we've got two guys and one girl, and according to horror movies throughout the ages and the CW network, that just can't happen. What do you suggest we do about it?"

Silence fell on Elm Street as the Sam and Dean looked at each other. Jo ducked her head, both guilty and relieved that she practically had a free pass to survive the night. They turned back to Freddy.

The monster smiled, his teeth flashing dangerously under the glow of the streetlight. "I know you," he said softly, "_Dean_. Willing to give it all up so your sweet little brother has a chance at happiness. Fine. We'll do it your way. Say hi to Jason for me."

Before anyone could react, Freddy's shadow had spread out from under the streetlight, rearing up and off the pavement as the clawed hand jabbed out toward Dean's chest. Nobody had been expecting the gun shot, had been expecting Dean to crumple onto the bloody pavement with a large hole in the side of his head. Nobody had expected Dean Winchester to die by his own hand.


	11. Chapter 11

Sorry for the delay on this chapter. Real life is so exhausting!

* * *

Ellen nearly had a heart attack as Dean snapped up into a sitting position from his place on the hardwood floor. Once she'd caught her breath and her heart had started beating normally again, she marveled that he hadn't given himself whiplash.

She watched as the younger man looked around the room, his face pale, body soaked in a cold sweat. His gaze traveled the length of his arm and fell onto the gun that had somehow wormed its way from its place in his waistband and into his hand. He dropped the weapon, sending it skittering across the floor, as if he'd been scalded.

"Dean?" Ellen finally spoke up, "you all right? You weren't in trouble, were you?"

"It tried to kill me," he said softly, eyes lingering on the gun, "but I wasn't gonna let it."

"What did you do?" she asked, her eyes traveling from his shaking form to the gun.

"It's an old wives' tale," Dean explained calmly, "they say that if you're about to die in a dream, you wake up."

"But Freddy-"

"Freddy didn't kill me."

"You shot yourself?"

"I figured, as long as it wasn't him…"

"But you weren't sure," Ellen argued, struggling from her place on to the couch and onto the floor near him.

"Yeah I was." She gazed at him skeptically. "Like, pretty sure. _Really_ pretty sure. Ninety percent."

"You could have died."

"Better by my own hand than his," the younger hunter muttered, picking himself up off the floor and looking over the still bodies of his brother and friend. A single tear slipped down Sam's cheek.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

He didn't even realize that he was crying. Even knowing that his brother was going to die someday- someday soon- couldn't have prepared him for the older man's suicide. Sam cradled his brother's corpse in his arms while Jo knelt beside them, neither of the caring that their clothes were soaking through with blood, that Freddy was still behind them, that they were probably next.

"I can't believe he did that," Jo whispered, staring blankly at the missing half of the older hunter's head, "why would he do that?"

"Maybe he knows something we don't," Sam suggested, his voice and face and eyes hopeful, pleading with her to agree, "maybe he's not dead. Maybe, because Freddy…" he trailed off, his arms slackening their hold around his brother's body. "_Freddy._"

Sam laid his brother's body gently back on the pavement before turning with fire in his eyes to the streetlight. Jo stood and followed his gaze, squinting to see into the blinking circle and seeing nothing.

"He's not there," she observed as Sam gained his feet. They took a step forward. "Where's he go?"

"Coward," Sammy muttered. He looked around the bloody street, raising his voice. "Why don't you show yourself, you bitch?"

Behind them, something sloshed through the blood. Both hunters whirled around and gasped.

Dean was standing up in the middle of the street, blood staining his clothing, smeared over his skin, running in tiny rivulets from the gaping hole in the side of his head. He smirked. "One, two," he whispered, the sound of his voice, so empty, so hopeless, so _cold_, sending shivers up Sam's spine, "Freddy's coming for you…"

Sammy took a step back, away from his brother's reanimated corpse, throwing out and arm to shield Jo from the monster. "Dean?"

The corpse took a step toward them. Sam and Jo started to run.

o0o0o0o0o

"That's a lot of blood, though," Ellen argued as she searched her daughter for wounds.

"The street was coated in it," Dean reminded her as his own hands ghosted over his brother's body, checking for any cuts or scrapes. He heard the younger man whisper his name, saw his face scrunch up in fear, his breathing become labored. "What the hell's going on in there?"


	12. Chapter 12

OK. I should be doing Physics homework, but instead I'm updating. Hope you enjoy this more than I'm currently enjoying my Physics grade LOL!

* * *

"Three, four, better lock your door."

"That thing just doesn't give up!" Jo yelled as she nearly tripped for the tenth time since leaving Elm Street. Dean's corpse had been chasing the hunters through the small town that they had found themselves in, chanting the disturbing rhyme as he went, never running, but somehow seeming to keep up with them as they rushed past darkened homes and shops.

"Five, six, grab your crucifix…"

Sam reached behind him and grabbed Jo's arm, yanking her roughly down a side alley, sloshing through puddles of what he hoped was water. The buildings on either side of them were tall, probably shops or apartments, and had fire escapes leading up to windows.

Without pausing to consider the fact that this nightmare version of his brother might be able to operate a ladder, Sam pushed Jo up, following close behind her. She got to the landing and attempted to open the window, but it wouldn't give.

"I can't open it," she hissed frantically as Sam reached the landing behind her. They glanced back down to see their pursuer wrapping clammy hands around the bottom rungs on the ladder.

Sam practically ripped off his hoodie as Dean started climbing the ladder. He wrapped the jacket around his hand and hit the window, shattering it. He brushed broken glass from the frame and helped push Jo through.

"Seven, eight, better stay up late."

He glanced back once at the thing Freddy Krueger had caused his brother to become before following Jo. They stood together in a small, cramped room with a door standing opposite the window. Slowly, Jo approached it, Sam following close behind.

"Open it," he urged.

The blonde did as she was told, wrapping a pale hand around the brass doorknob and turning it, pushing the door open, and staring out into a bare hallway. Sam looked out past her, searching for a way out as he heard the clanging of old boots against the metal ladder.

Farther down the hall, there was a series of doors, set up Scooby-Doo style, one across from another. Without thinking, Sam grabbed his counterpart's hand and pulled her down the hall and through one of the doors. He glanced quickly over the darkened room, and, finding nothing that could possibly pose a threat, slammed the door and bolted it shut.

"What are we gonna do?" Jo moaned, sinking to the floor and leaning her back against the door, "I didn't sign up for this."

"We're not gonna panic," Sam whispered, holding out a hand to help her up off the ground, "and we're not gonna rest until Freddy's dead. He's gonna pay for what he did to your mom and Dean."

Sighing, she held out her hand and let herself get dragged back to her feet. "What if he gets us before we get him?"

"He won't," Sam reasoned, trying on a strained grin, "I'm the nice guy and you're the virgin, remember?"

"I'm not a virgin," she hissed.

"Token blonde, then," Sam shrugged, marveling at the girl's honesty as footsteps sounded in the hall outside the room.

"He found us," she whispered frantically, stepping closer to Sam until she was practically pressed against him. The flimsy door began to rattle in its frame as strong fists, fists that had knocked out more than one bully for little brother in their time, pounded against the wood.

Sam and Jo stepped back, melting into the shadows of the room, trying to hide from something that couldn't see them, something that should have been dead. He could feel her trembling and knew in that instant that she hadn't done much hunting in her absence. That, or she just wasn't cut out for the job.

She looked up at him with wide eyes as he wrapped strong arms around her, holding her close, promising without words to keep her safe from the horror that was bound to come breaking through the door at any second.

And then the pounding stopped. The building fell silent, save the sound of the hunters' harried breathing. They looked at each other, uncertain, and snuck toward the door, careful to step lightly, to avoid giving away signs of their presence.

Sam disengaged his arms and shot Jo a glance that she understood clearly. She pulled her machete from her side, wondering if she could really cut off Dean Winchester's head if it came to that. No amount of pain John had caused her family could possibly justify the action.

She didn't have much time to think, though, as Sam pulled open the door and stepped aside in one fluid motion, allowing her a clean shot at the blood-drenched corpse that stood in the doorway.

"Nine, ten," Dean hissed through a mouthful of blood, "never sleep again!" He smirked, such a familiar expression on a face that would have been handsome, if not for the rivers of blood and missing chunk of skull, and disintegrated, turning to dust before their eyes.

Sam and Jo glanced at each other as the form of the older hunter fell at their feet in a neat little pile of ash. They barely had time to notice the figure that had been standing behind him before it attacked.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean leaned back on the old couch, shifting uncomfortably as the still-damp cushions leaked blood onto his jeans. He propped his feet u on a tottering pile of books, never once taking his eyes from the still forms of his brother and Jo, as Ellen joined him.

"All that blood," the older woman whispered, grimacing as she settled back and the new stitches in her stomach pulled tight.

"But no cuts, no scrapes, no nothing," Dean pointed out, barely stifling a yawn and stretching his arms over the top of the couch. He let himself relax for a brief moment, sinking farther into the battered cushions, his head lolling back, hands falling limp, fingers barely brushing Ellen's shoulder. He straightened up immediately, his hands flying to his lap as if he was a five-year-old who had been caught trying to sneak a cookie before dinner.

"You know," Ellen said softly, noticing his sudden change in posture, "it's a big enough couch, and it's gonna be a long night. You might as well get comfortable."

"I'm fine," he insisted, "really."

"All right," she shrugged, leaning back with a groan and setting her feet up on the pile of books next to his, "suit yourself."

"I'm suited."

"Good."

"Good."

"How long?"

He turned to look at her, fixing her with a confused gaze. "How long?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "how long?"

"It doesn't matter," he said as he realized what she was talking about, "I told you. Nothing matters anymore, not as long as Sammy's safe. And he is. And I'm almost outta time."

"Unless Sam comes through."

"He won't. He can't. I'm not gonna let him."

"Because he'll die?"

The younger man's surprise was apparent in his face. "How'd you-?"

"Everyone has their secrets, including Sam."

"He's been going behind my back? Even after I told him… Why?"

"Contrary to your own belief," she sighed, "you _are_ important to some people. We _will_ miss you."

Dean blinked, apparently shocked. "You mean, you…?" He never got a chance to finish his question as she turned abruptly away to look back at the sleeping hunters. A flash of red that didn't belong caught his eye and Dean followed her gaze.

He was on the floor before he'd even realized he'd left the couch, the pile of books his feet had been resting on mere seconds before had toppled, spilling ancient texts across the hardwood. He knelt at his brother's side, reaching out a careful hand toward the younger man, unsure of what to do as tiny beads of blood dripped onto the floor from the four shallow gashes on Sam's face.


	13. Chapter 13

So, yeah, remember when Ava and Sam were tlaking in AHBL2 about how she could control demons? For some reason that line just keeps running through my head this season, like it's important, or something. It also pops up in this chapter, jsut so you know what I'm referencing.

* * *

He'd been playing with knives his whole life. His dad had made him. He'd never really liked this part, though, finding out how much they hurt. His cheek stung as sharp claws swiped at his face, causing him to lose his balance as he frantically leapt back to avoid a more serious injury. He could feel tiny droplets of blood slipping down his face, staining his clothing. This was one outfit he'd never be able to wear again- not in public, at least.

Silently, Sam cursed himself for falling right into the creature's trap. He hadn't even seen Freddy waiting in the darkness, hadn't anticipated the attack.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jo try to put her machete to use, but Freddy grabbed it between his hands and twisted the weapon free from her grip. He tossed it to the side and raised one hand to attack, which was perfect.

Sam had been playing with knives his whole life. It didn't take much effort to pull the machete from its sheath at his side and lop off Freddy's Krueger's head with one clean sweep.

He had just enough time to register the fact that horror movies lied about how much blood spurt was involved in decapitation before Jo screamed. The blonde had, instinctively, caught the monster's severed head as it had flown towards her. Seeing what she held in her hands had caused a little panic.

The head fell to the floor as Jo dropped it, vigorously rubbing her bloody hands on her shirt and squirming uncomfortably at the memory of the dead flesh.

Sam carefully replaced his weapon before squatting down to retrieve Freddy's head. "Well," he sighed, "_that_ nightmare's over." He shoved the head under his arm, waiting patiently as Jo picked up her dropped machete. They stepped over the headless body that stood between them and the darkened hallway, and headed back the way they'd come. They couldn't have been more than ten steps from the room when the heard an evil laugh sound behind them. Both hunters spun on the spot.

Metal clanked against wood as the silhouetted figure in the doorway to the room they had just left smiled at them, his teeth glistening in a head that shouldn't have been there.

"Oh," Freddy cooed as the head that Sam was holding disintegrated, much as Dean's body had before, "it's _far_ from over."

The two hunters took off toward they room they'd entered the building through, only to find that the door had been locked. Sam backed up a step and kicked the door down, surprised at the ease with which the task was accomplished. He didn't take any time to ponder his own strength, though, and rushed in. The window was no longer broken.

Without a pause, Jo rushed past him, throwing her arms up to cover her face, and broke through the window, giving them an escape route from the murderous monster that was slowly stalking down the hall after them.

Sam followed her through the window and slid down the ladder, landing hard on the street below and looking up in time see Freddy's face appear in the window. "Run, run, as fast as you can!" the monster shrieked happily. He took off after Jo down the street.

"Wait!" Sam shouted as he finally caught up to the blonde.

"What the Hell was that?" Jo snapped, "we _got_ him. How did he do that?"

"It's his world," Sam explained calmly, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him, "he can do whatever he wants. He can't die here."

"And you couldn't have mentioned that before?"

"Look, I know it seems bad, but…" he trailed off, his gaze straying to the darkened shop window behind her, eyes widening as he took in the sight of his own reflection.

"Sam? What is it?" She turned to the window as gasped, taking a step back into the taller hunter, her hand wrapping itself involuntarily around his jacket. "Sam?" she whispered, looking up at him with scared eyes, desperate to tear herself away from the merciless yellow gaze that stared placidly at her from the glass.

The older hunter swallowed hard as his yellow-eyed reflection smirked at him, shoving its hands in its pockets and rocking back and forth slightly as it took him in. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," it cooed, "did you really think you could get away? Did you really think you could fight it? Destiny is destiny, and there's no running."

"You're wrong," he spat, narrowing his eyes as the figure.

"No. I'm right. I'm right and you know it. This," it spread its arms wide, eyes glinting in the darkness, "is what you're destined to become, just as soon as you give in to what you really are."

Jo glanced between the two of them, knowing that she should shatter the glass, destroy the warped image of the man that stood tall beside her, but too fascinated by the conversation to move.

"And what's that?" Sam snarled.

"A demon," his reflection stated, as if it were a simple explanation, the simplest thing in the world.

"I'm no demon."

"But you will be. Once you save your brother."

"He's already dead."

"Is he? Because I've got it on good authority that he's not. He's waiting for you. You want to know how to break his deal?" Sam narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything. His reflection smirked. "You need to accept it. Remember Ava? She could control demons."

"So?"

"What holds the contract to your brother's soul?"

The hunter took a shaky step back. "You're lying."

The image in the mirror nodded. "Maybe. You'll never know until you try."

"I'm not a demon."

"Sammy," it sighed, cocking its head to the side in a perfect imitation of an innocent puppy, "blood is thicker than water." The hunter ducked his head, glaring at his reflection, sizing it up, but again refrained from speaking. "Blood runs through these streets," the image continued, grinning wickedly as it stuck one hand behind its back, "the blood of your parents, of your girlfriend, of your brother. The blood of a demon."

Freddy was fast, but Sam was faster. He might have missed the monster's last attack, but he always learned from his mistakes and had seen this one coming from a mile off. He grabbed Jo by the shoulders and pushed her aside as he dodged the claws that sailed out of the glass and headed straight for his chest. His machete was in his hands in an instant, and it wasn't long before Freddy's clawed glove was lying on the bloody pavement.

Jo gazed up at Sam with wonder in her eyes. "How'd you know?"

"Because I'm an awesome hunter," he quipped, holding out a hand to help her up off the ground, "now come one, we need to find someplace to hide and think."

"But you said this is his world," she argued, watching with sick fascination as the severed hand writhed on the concrete.

"It is," Sam nodded, heading off down the street, machete held tightly in his hand, just in case, "but there's always a way to beat him. We just need to find some place he can't go."

"How about the cemetery? Hallowed ground, iron bars."

"There was a church near there," the older hunter remembered, "might have holy water… crucifixes."

"Five, six," Jo shrugged. They headed across the street, both on high alert, searching for the cemetery. It was still there, the rusted gate creaking loudly as they entered into the sacred place.


	14. Chapter 14

Wow. So, um, I totally spaced and this is the last chapter. Don't worry, though, the epilogue will be up tomorrow (or the next time I update).

In other news (I'm sorry, but I have to say this. I'm still so high on squee that I can't keep it in!)... so, did anyone go to the convention in Chicago this past weekend? I didn't, but I saw a video on the web of it and Jared mentioned a video that he's seen on Youtube. It's a Supernatural vversion of Charlie The Unicorn. He said he liked it. He laughed about how funny it is. Wanna know who made that? You're reading what she wrote :) And I was like: ... 0o DUDE, SERIOUSLY?!? BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER!!!!!

Now, on with the story:

* * *

Sam had been right. A small church sat at the top of a hill, encircled in thick mist. Eyes roving through the darkness, unconsciously checking behind every tree and tombstone for signs of a threat, the hunters made their way to safety.

The church was old and decrepit, practically falling down around them, but that didn't change what it was: a holy place. No demonic entities allowed.

"So, what's the plan?" Jo asked, flopping down in one of the pews and staring up at Sam with tired eyes.

"Not sure yet," he muttered, sitting down next to her, "it should have worked. We should be able to pull stuff out."

"Just not his head," the blonde sighed.

Sam snapped his fingers. "What if we don't try to take his head? What if we try to take all of him?"

"Like in the last movie?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"One problem. Jason isn't around to kick his charred-up ass."

"But your mom and Dean are."

"Maybe," she said softly, "but mom's hurt."

"Dean's not."

"Sam-"

"He's not dead."

"Demons lie."

"They don't lie about him."

Jo sighed. "Fine. Let's say he's alive. It won't matter. They won't be ready."

"Dean's always ready."

"Ok, so we pull all of Freddy into reality and he gets his head chopped off and we all live happily ever after. One _more_ problem."

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"How do we get ahold of Freddy?"

"He's trying to kill us. Shouldn't be too hard."

"But this is his world. He should know what's going on. He won't come after us if he knows we're plotting to kill him."

"He did before."

"That was different. He knew we couldn't do it. This is actually possible."

"All right, little miss sunshine, you wanna know how I know he'll come?"

"Enlighten me," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Because demons are cocky. Ghosts are cocky. All things supernatural are cocky. They'll walk into whatever trap you lay for them because they think they're invincible."

"He won't just walk up to us on the street again, not after last time. He knows we'll be on guard. We need to find him."

"Or let our guard down," Sam pointed out.

"And how do we do that?"

"You remember what Dean said when we first got here, about the rules in these movies?"

"One girl, one guy?"

"And the first people offed?"

Her face scrunched up with the effort of remembering their earlier conversation. Her eyes went wide and she jumped from the pew as everything came rushing back. "Hell no!"

"Jo," Sammy sighed, fixing her with a pleading gaze, "I wish there was another way, I really do, but Dean was right. If we want Freddy to attack-"

"Forget it! I'm not having sex with you so Freddy Krueger will come kill us!"

"You'd rather we stay here, as far away from each other as possible, until we wake up? Do you know how many people could die?" As if to emphasize his point, a sharp scream cut through the night. "Jo, please. It's not like I'm asking for your virginity. We don't have another choice."

"In a _church_, Sam?"

"I was thinking the graveyard, but whatever turns you on."

"Great," she moaned, placing her hands on her hips and scowling at him, "on top of dead people, or in the church. Decisions, decisions." He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response. "Fine," she conceded, "the thought of dead people under us creeps me out. If you think he can get in here-"

"I think he can get to wherever he wants to go."

Sighing, she pulled off her shirt and sat on his lap, running her fingers through his hair. "You'd better appreciate this," she hissed before their lips met."

o0o0o0o0o

A soft moan escaped Jo's lips, attracting the attention of her two guardians. Sam followed suit.

"What are they doing in there?" Ellen asked no one in particular, with just a hint of disgust in her voice.

"Trust me," Dean muttered, a shudder ripping through his body as hastily repressed memories bubbled to the surface of his mind, "you don't want to know."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam had barely noticed as the scene around them shifted, moving the pair of hunters into a stuffy old house. Footsteps approached, echoing around an empty room. A face loomed down over them, smiling, eyes glinting with malice. "And in a _church_," a familiar voice scolded as strong fingers wrapped around Sam's arms, pulling him off of Jo. He reached back, his hands clambering to get a grip on the hideous red and green sweater as Jo screamed for someone to wake her up.

o0o0o0o0o

"Somebody please!" The shrieks echoed through the small house as Ellen started shaking her daughter. "Wake me up!"

The older woman jumped back as Jo's eyes flew open. The girl scanned the room, her breath coming in quick gasps. On the floor beside her, Sam was doing the same, searching the room for signs of reality. Their eyes met briefly before their gazes traveled simultaneously up to the figure hunched over them, a figure they were both holding tightly.

Freddy's eyes went wide as he registered the change in his surroundings. Slowly, he stood up, releasing his hold on Sam and Jo as they released theirs on him and quickly army-crawled away, as if they knew what was going to happen.

The sound of a gun cocking captured Freddy's attention and he turned to see Dean aiming at his heart. He turned back to the space where Sam and Jo should have been, only to see Ellen's feet as she stood before him, machete gripped tightly in her hands. Slowly, he spun back to face Dean.

"Welcome to _my_ nightmare," the hunter quoted, pulling the trigger and releasing a bullet into the creature's black heart, "_bitch_."

Freddy stumbled back as the bullet tore through his chest, only to be whipped around by the force of the machete cutting through his neck. His legs went limp, launching him onto the ground as Ellen staggered and Sam caught her.

The four friends gazed down at the headless body before turning to each other. Dean shoved his gun back into the waistband of his jeans, then stooped over and looped his hands under the creature's armpits, hefting the body up.

Sighing, Jo picked up the head, and, holding it at arm's length, headed outside with the rest of the group following closely behind.

They wasted no time in dousing the head with salt and gasoline and setting it on fire. Sam and Dean took the responsibility of building a make-shift pyre while Jo carefully buried what remained of Freddy's head.

The body went the way of the head, sending flames up into the brightening sky as the four hunters watched with grim fascination as the deadly metal claws twisted and melted in the heat.

"_Now_ it's over," Sam said softly as the last few billows of smoke snaked up toward the sun as it peeked out from beyond the horizon.

"Really?" Jo asked, "because Dracula, Imhotep, and Leatherface might say different."

"Not to mention Pinhead, Jigsaw, and the wolfman," Dean added, "but until they show their ugly faces, I think we'll be fine."

Jo looked over at him and grinned. "One hell of a last Halloween, though, huh?"

Dean smirked. "Next year should be one hell of a Halloween, too, if you get my drift."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but the older man cut him off. "Not now, Sammy. Let's just take care of Bobby and then go to sleep. Preferably without dreaming."

The younger hunter sighed and nodded. "Fine. But once you wake up, we're having that discussion again."

"And to think," Ellen said, catching Dean's eyes and offering a reassuring smile, "you wanted to go trick-or-treating."

"Yeah," he sighed, "how stupid was that? Why dress up like the monsters when you can behead them?"

And that was that.


	15. Epilogue

Here it is. The final chapter. I'd like to thank you all for reading. I hope you all enjoyed this one. Keep an eye out for some inevitable one-shots and a Christmas story of mine in the next couple of months. That's all, I guess. Have fun!

* * *

_One Week Later_

Jo walked into her house, the house she'd grown up in, the house she loved, unconsciously avoiding the bloodstained tiles in the entry as she navigated herself toward the kitchen to set down the large grocery bags she was holding. She set the week's meals down on the counter and went looking for her mother.

The blonde nearly tripped as she was walking out of the kitchen, seeing as how she'd missed seeing the boot that had been tossed carelessly onto the floor. Muttering to herself, she kicked it out of the way. She started to walk into the living room, but stopped, turned, and stared at the shoe.

She didn't own boots, not like that one. It was too big, too dirty, and had splotches of dried blood on it. It was a man's boot.

"Mom?" She looked around, hoping to find any signs of her mother. What she saw was a discarded shirt… the same one Ellen had been wearing when Jo had volunteered to go to the store. "_Mom_?"

The girl picked up the shirt and gazed around the house. It was quiet. She stepped a little closer to the living room, starting to get nervous. Then she saw the jeans, too big to belong to her mother, and full of holes, just lying on the stairs.

Curious, Jo mounted the steps and headed down the upstairs hallway, still searching for her mother. She saw other various items of clothing scattered around, a shirt here, a sock there.

Ellen's bedroom door was closed, but soft noises, whispers, were coming from the other side. Slowly, Jo pushed the door open.

The girls' hands flew to her mouth in shock as she took in the scene before her. Out of all the people she'd expected to see there, out of all the people she would have been ok with, Dean Winchester was not one of them. And he was on top of her mother.

"Mom?" she managed to squeak out, attracting the attention of the two figures in the bed.

Dean and Ellen turned to her, smiling wickedly, their eyes gone, blood spilling down their faces, coating the sheets. "Nine, ten," they chanted together, "he's back again!"

o0o0o0o0o

Jo sat straight up in bed, her heart racing, cold sweat soaking her sheets. "Mom!" she screamed as a clawed hand ripped through her chest, pulling her back down onto her bed and silencing her final cry.

* * *

The End! Oh, yeah! Got her! 


End file.
